Oh, Dear. . . A BigFoot Hunter

Cut me some slack. I’m actually the Father of Modern Bigfootery and the Most Hated Man in Established Bigfootery. It’s not because I type in snooty CAPS. My keyboard is Freudian but not smug. I don’t believe in what the others promote. I’m not just a Bigfoot hunter. I seek a little more than a thrilling glimpse at a badger in a tree that I can swoon over and believe was a hominid. I seek the ultimate hunt.

Expeditions are frightfully British in character. It’s not intentional. The English simply have a higher sense of serious adventure. I won’t have an Eaton man along if he admits he learned anything at college. A gentleman learns nothing at Eaton except how to gamble and play the horses. Some appear to learn wenching, but they already knew that. They just have more opportunity now.

A gentleman is the only thing to be with in the wilds; that or a Frenchman.  The Dutch do well, but they are hard to manage.

Well, the true life pursuit is something very different from the plodding reality TV rubbish. Think in terms of the recent Search for the Lost City of Z, only not so langsam, and not so much whispering. I dig that kind of adventure.

Z-1

In this case, the backdrop are the deep and dank forests of the Pacific Northwest. Unless it is the Torngats, nowhere else . . . with the odd exception there may still be something in Arkansas.

Let’s talk about the Traverspine Gorilla. This is the name that Elliot Merrick gave two beasts who terrorized the small Labrador village of Traverspine at the head of Lake Melville in the 1930s. The citoyens there had never seen anything like them before. They were hairy beasts that could walk on their hind legs, but went down on all fours when in a hurry. He wrote of their encounters in his book True North. These two creatures, a male and female, were hideous. One girl came across them, one of the Michelins as I recall, and she insists that one of them smiled at her and then beckoned her with its finger. She bolted back to momma and the cabin. One thing seems certain: they left a strange 3-toed print, like some ghastly giant sloth.

Professor Bruce Wright later traveled up there and tried to explain the beasts in his book Wildlife Sketches Near and Far. He had spoken with the people involved in some of the most horrific encounters, like the Michelins. Despite them insisting that it was no bear, he later tried to explain the Traverspine Gorilla away as lost polar bears. The explanation didn’t wash.

One hears very little about the Traverspine Gorilla today. Bigfooters and “Cryptozoologists” really don’t exist in the field. They are armchair enthusiasts or plodding about the fringes of a forest with game cameras for so called reality-TV. It would take a lot to go into the Torngat Triangle in Labrador. But it would be a real expedition into largely unexplored territory. It requires guns, a chopper ready to Medivac, some whiskey, lots of gear, some more whiskey, stiff upper lip, and most importantly toilette paper.

The Torngats are the object. The Traverspine Gorilla of the 1930s was an exception. They didn’t come back. They came from somewhere, traveled in a male-female pair, and must have gone back into the Torngats. There’s a lot up there that would shock people. It is a true land that time forgot. Bruce Wright knew the following story was reliable. One hunter in the area quickly scampered up a rock when he saw a red bear coming. He sat there frozen, watching as this bear snuffled at his canoe. It was snuffling at one end and its tail was at the other. The canoe was 15 feet long! That’s a big bear!

This is the wonderful type of adventure that awaits the true adventurer, the true lover of worthy junkets. The Traverspine Gorillas must be explained. They sure aren’t Bigfoot, but then that “chimera” is a combination of many things.

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Since 1990 Gian J. Quasar has investigated a broad range of mysterious subjects, from strange disappearances to serial murders, earning in that time the unique distinction of being likened to “the real life Kolchak.” However, he is much more at home with being called The Quester or Q Man. “He’s bloody eccentric, an historian with no qualifications who sticks his nose into affairs and gets results.” He is the author of several books, one of which inspired a Resolution in Congress.

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